


Bread Run

by atsuyuri_sama



Series: Completed, Stand-Alone Tumblr Fics [4]
Category: Cyborg 009
Genre: Fluff, M/M, background appearance of the Father (Cyborg 009), flower giving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:45:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1850044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atsuyuri_sama/pseuds/atsuyuri_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world without Black Ghost’s interference, Joe grows up. And along the way, he finds a bakery and one particularly silent young man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bread Run

**Author's Note:**

> Axl-fox on tumblr made me do it, just sayin’

Joe raced around the familiar concrete corners, feet carrying him with an ease that his friends were often jealous of. In spite of the sweat that was beginning to creep down his temples, a wide grin was blossoming on his face, and his cheeks – already pink with exertion – were slowly growing redder. A half-block away from his destination, he skidded to an abrupt halt, twisting around easily in a move meant to keep him from crashing into the crowd of Japanese walking the concrete streets.

Tucking himself against the corner of a building, he panted, craning shyly around to peek at the glass of the storefront that was his destination. His face flamed brighter even as his breathing leveled out; he _knew_ he was being stupid. There was no _way_ the other could see him yet. There was no _reason_ to be… be hiding! Masaru would have called him such a girl, and made fun of him, but…

But he always did this. It was habit, since the first awkward visit. And who was he to spit on habit if it worked?

The first time, the Father had nearly had to order Joe to go. Mary, Shinji, and Masaru had all been sick with the flu; usually, they were the ones to get bread for Communion. Joe hadn’t wanted to go because he’d seen the boy who worked in the bakery before – he was worried he’d look stupid in front of him. And when – after dragging his feet the whole way – he’d nearly lost his nerve and hid behind the building, it had taken a good half an hour to convince himself that, no, Joe, it would be fine! All the Father needed was a loaf of bread! All he had to do was ask for some. It was going to be fine…!

And it had been. Nothing except a simple exchange of money for bread had occurred the first time. And the second. And the third. The trio got better, but Joe began to beg to be the one chosen to go. He wanted the chance to see his crush. But he still would find himself frozen once he reached his destination. The stop became a ritual, the breathing a routine. And then Joe would puff himself up and walk with a mountain of confidence he didn’t feel to go order a common loaf from a quiet boy he was head over heels for.

The first time ordered a loaf of bread, he said nothing; too nervous.

The second, he managed to eek out a mumbled, ‘thank you’.

By the sixth time, he was grinning ear-to-ear and giving a cheerful greeting to the boy behind the counter, doggedly ignoring his own red face.

By the time he got the courage to call Tsutomu by his name, Joe couldn’t remember how many times he’d come by the bakery. He was rewarded with a smile that gleamed like polished silver.

The day he waved farewell, only to look down at the loaf as he walked away and find his name carefully etched in a perfectly browned loaf, saw him walk straight into the doorframe. He woke moments later, sprawled with no dignity on the floor of the bakery, and a wide-eyed, horrified face leaning over his. Tsutomu still said nothing, but his concern was obvious enough, and Joe felt his smile grow unexpectedly warm.

“I’m fine,” he assured softly, and when a large hand hauled him to his feet, he lean forward impulsively to wrap his arms around wide shoulders. He fled without looking back.

After that, his name was always in the loaf. The Father, curiously enough, never said anything about it.

Over the years since, they’d exchanged the occasional touch. And Tsutomu never said a word. And Joe learned to run for the bakery like the wind was guiding his heels. The loaf was always simple, but elegant little offerings started to show up – just for Joe. Pretty, warm creations of flour and yeast and heat. Joe had only ever had his stories of the church to offer up. It seemed to be enough for the other, if his soundless giggles and bright eyes were anything to go by, but… Joe had enough; it was Tsutomu’s turn to get something nice!

This time, he’d deliberately come when Tsutomu’s shift was ending. He’d never done that before, and he hoped the other teen would be pleasantly surprised. He accidently timed it just right, and crossed the bakery’s threshold just as Tsutomu was hanging up his flour-spattered apron.

“Ano, Tsutomu, hello!” Joe called cheerfully, face flushed still. The other teen whipped around in shock, a slight gasp startled from his lips. He grinned when he spotted Joe, only to immediately go slack in surprise and wonder. Carefully he approached, a hand coming up cautiously, as though he couldn’t believe Joe had brought _this_ for _him._

Joe resolved to do this more often, if simple gifts could be so shocking.

He pressed the small bundle – the fruit of months of saving what little pocket change the Father could spare for his charges – of baby sunflowers into Tsutomu’s strong arms. “They remind me of your smile: bright and happy.”

Immediately Joe regretted the cheesy line, looking away. He was about to speak again – apologize, maybe, for the cliché – when he heard the heavy steps of his long-time crush moving away. His heart sunk and he froze; Tsutomu hated him. He hated the flowers. Joe had messed up big time!

Too busy with his own panic, Joe yelped incoherently as a hand unexpectedly entered his vision and gripped his chin. It was Tsutomu, grinning wider than Joe had ever seen, tears glinting in his expressive – if hair-burdened – gaze.

 _I love it_ , those eyes said. _I like you,_ that smile said.

When Tsutomu kissed him, in the careful, awkward way of one who has never kissed another, Joe’s heart fluttered madly in his chest.

“Oh,” he breathed as they pulled apart. “Okay. Sunflowers are good, after all. Yeah. Okay.”

A huff of silent laughter was his only response.

For the next week, a small but well-loved bundle of sunflowers held the spot of honor on the bakery’s counter. For the next ten years and on – increasing in size and frequency as time went by – numerous arrangements graced every corner of the bakery at least once.

And always, once a year, a thin bundle of impossibly bright golden baby sunflowers held the spotlight.


End file.
